Name Me Lawand
Edward Lovelace
2022, 91 mins.
Where do I belong? … Here.
Extraordinary.
Here is a film that follows the very young life of Deaf Lawand from the bullying, shunning existence in Iraq to Derby UK (no coincidence: it’s home to the Royal School for the Deaf Deby) and his incredible journey from feeling completely lost on an unforgiving planet, to an adolescent ready to take on all comers on the soccer pitch, theatrical stage or even a Birmingham courthouse.
None of this could have been made up, unlike so many other “stories” of the “others” amongst us swirling around the world today.
What is particularly useful for viewers relatively new to the Deaf, deafened, hard of hearing community is the point of view. We can all experience Lawand’s struggle with saying anything out loud—from a “mere” letter, to complete word. And once he has begun to learn sign language (notably British Sign Language) and eventually master it (aided and abetted by teachers and a compassionate volunteer whose only goal is to let his pupil communicate thoughts rather than cower behind them in isolation), the journey forward becomes much more bearable.
Family matters are also laid bare: both Mom and Dad have little interest in learning to “speak” in signs while older brother Rawa is all in on trying to master the technique.
Magically, it’s Lawand’s classmates in Derby who save the day, and likely their sudden friend’s soul, as they begin to hang out like friends without a word spoken.
The villain of the piece (nothing to make up here) is the British Home Office, threatening to deport the entire family if they—especially Lawand—can’t jump through the administrative language-improvement hoops. Urged on by those around him and his own growing confidence, the quickly maturing Lawand makes his case with grit and style.
While an isolated instance, this story is a universal tale about the plight of migrants (whether with a disability or not) worldwide as—shunned by their home countries—they seek safety and comfort in others who purport to be caring and supportive of those, who through no fault of their own, choose to seek a better life elsewhere, then return the favour through hard work and loyalty. That’s a circumstance that those naysayers—notably south of the Canadian border—ought to learn and celebrate rather than scorn and demean.
Finally, the proof is in the silent pudding as Lawand’s outlook shifts from B-A-D to P-R-O-U-D. JWR
Crumb Catcher
Chris Skotchdopole
2024, 103 mins.
What’s a viewer to do with no one to like?
Most dramas—no matter what the genre—have someone to cheer for (aka the hero) and someone to despise (aka the villain). The conflict(s) between them (frequently more than one on each side) makes everyone want to know more.
In this unusual world, Skotchdopole (along with co-writers Larry Fessenden and Rico Garay), there’s no victor, much less someone to cheer for either in victory or defeat.
At the centre of it all is Shane (played by Garay). We first meet the soon-to-be-published writer on his wedding day. The next morning, he groggily comes to life still in his tuxedo…must have been quite an “emotional” night.
Leah, the not-at-all blushing bride (Ella Rae Peck), seems to be far more interested in getting her new hubby’s book published than consummating their vows in the usual way.
Lurking in the narrative weeds is the waiter/entrepreneur John (John Speredakos has more fun than anyone on set and most certainly in the office), who interrupts the honeymoon in a conveniently secluded lavish, art-filled house to make the “just married” couple an offer they can’t refuse or accept. (Crumbs on the restaurant table have never been brought to the fore thanks to his Crumb Catcher contraption.)
John’s better half (in more ways than one), comes in the hardly shapely form of Rose (Lorraine Farris) who brings the meaning of night shaft—oops shift—to new digital light (must be seen to be believed).
How the artistic trust managed to concoct a narrative with too many incongruities (even for the movies: e.g., Shane’s dad not invited to the wedding even as life informs a lot of his son’s soon-to-be-published memoire; Leah more interested in what’s between the pages than what should have been in her nuptial sheets; John “magically” finding the honeymoon roost; Rose—far, far too late—showing a twinkle of conscience), is one of the cinema’s life mysteries.
The only redeeming quality comes from Ian Devine’s original score, especially the interventions from the solo piano that manage to aurally distract from what is otherwise heard and seen on the screen.
Crummy indeed. JWR